A note from Sasha · Understanding addiction

When the Solution
Becomes the Problem.

What drives a person to use powerful drugs like fentanyl or heroin? Why do people become addicted to substances that can ultimately destroy their lives, costing them their loved ones, careers, relationships, and sometimes even their sense of self?

The answer, of course, is complicated. To offer a quick, simplified explanation would undermine the complexity of addiction.

At the same time, throughout my years working with individuals struggling with addiction, I’ve noticed a common theme that seems to transcend economic status, race, gender, and age.

Many of the people I’ve worked with have experienced some form of trauma or deep emotional wounds. Wounds they’ve often carried with them since early childhood.

The wounds we experience throughout life can sometimes heal with time. Gradually, the pain softens, and we find ways to move forward.

But what happens when those wounds don’t heal? What happens when they continue to attack a person’s nervous system, disrupting their emotional well-being and making everyday life feel unbearable?

What does that person do? Where do they go?

Eventually, a wounded person may stumble upon something powerful. Something that feels like a warm blanket covering their entire body, offering a moment of rest and respite from the immense pain they’ve been carrying.

And depending on the depth of that pain, the relief must be powerful enough to cover it.

Initially, the drug can actually appear to be the perfect solution to a complicated and deeply troubling problem.

For instance, someone might turn to retail therapy, exercise, relationships, or other activities to escape their emotional suffering. But sometimes these things aren’t enough. The anxiety continues to rage, and the void of depression remains.

And so they continue walking through life carrying this deep pain, until one day they discover something so powerful that it seems to overwhelm their suffering entirely.

Something that replaces their pain with profound feelings of relief, calm, and pleasure.

But over time, that very same solution begins to create more problems than the person started with.

I’ve heard people describe the experience of using opioids in ways that remind me of what I imagine a baby might feel in the womb of their mother: protected, safe, warm, and nourished.

For a brief moment, the drug seems to provide everything the wounded person has been desperately searching for.

This is why telling someone to “just stop using” often misses the bigger picture.

It’s like cutting weeds at the surface while leaving their roots untouched. We might temporarily remove what we can see, but the roots remain, continuing to grow beneath the surface.

This is also why the work of addiction treatment cannot simply remain on the surface.

Of course, addressing substance use itself is essential. But meaningful recovery often requires us to go deeper, to explore the emotional wounds, unresolved experiences, and internal struggles that may have contributed to the person’s relationship with substances in the first place.

There is a genuine sense of loss in recovery that I believe is often overlooked.

Finding something that can compete with the immediate and powerful relief of drugs is incredibly difficult.

But it isn’t impossible.

It requires time, patience, and the gradual development of a life filled with meaning and value.

Nothing may ever feel quite like heroin, and that is something the person may need to grieve.

Nothing may feel as easy or convenient as reaching for a bottle of vodka to escape the discomfort of life, and that too is something a person must learn to come to terms with.

We are asking someone to give up something that, despite its devastating consequences, may have once provided them with a profound sense of comfort and relief.

But beyond that sacrifice lies something deeper. Something far more valuable.

A chance to build a relationship with yourself.

A chance to develop genuine peace. Sustainable peace.

A sense of calm that doesn’t require your brain to numb out, disconnect, or escape from reality.

Instead, it’s the ability to experience discomfort without immediately needing to eliminate it. To tolerate painful emotions, learn from them, and perhaps even grow through them.

To derive meaning from suffering rather than simply finding ways to avoid it.

To develop relationships, purpose, connection, and ultimately, a life worth living.

The sacrifice is difficult. There is no denying that.

But over time, what initially feels like giving up the only thing that ever brought relief can become an opportunity to discover something far more meaningful.

Not simply a life without drugs, but a life in which drugs are no longer needed to make living feel bearable.

And perhaps that is where true recovery begins.